


The Pocket Watch and Other Little Stories

by TwoForATable (AliSimAlice)



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliSimAlice/pseuds/TwoForATable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Ethan and Vanessa drabbles, in no particular order. Just a few snippets of their friendship and romance, prompted by friends and readers. Feel free to leave requests!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pocket Watch

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Fran, who requested that I write a drabble in which Ethan reveals a bit of his family troubles to Vanessa-prompted by his pocket watch. I invite you all to share with me prompts of your own!
> 
> And remember, feedback is love!

He could feel her eyes staring intently, provocatively at his back—her eyes could pierce his soul, touch his heart, be gentle like a caress and painful like a mother's scorn. Those blue eyes, huge and beautiful, cold and determined, taunted him, beckoned him in—but her body, heart and mind weren't always in agreement. She'd been standing there at his threshold for at least ten minutes. It seemed like eons.

Vanessa was curious, that much he could tell or she wouldn't be so insistent. He should have shut his bedroom door, blocked her out for his own protection.

"What are you five?" He finally asked her, as she couldn't help but shift into a more comfortable standing position. After an eternity of silence and avoiding a conversation with her.

He could imagine the sly smile on her face as she gracefully crossed her arms over her chest. He turned around to face her, fighting off a grin.

"You've been fondling that thing all day," She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "and have been uncharacteristically quiet."

"You're uncharacteristically on a good mood." Vanessa smiled and he couldn't help but be warmed by it. She was the prettiest when she smiled.

She entered his bedroom uninvited, taking a seat next to him on the bed. She sat close. So much so that he could smell her perfume and feel the inebriating scent of her hair. Vanessa was a woman of contrast. He admired that about her, but it could also be infuriating. Either she was too close or too far, too warm or too cold, extremely loveable or the complete opposite. Sweet or bitter. Right now she was all things alluring, warm and charming—and this all could make for a disastrous encounter—yet another moment of passion ending with her rejection of him. He wanted to ask her what she was so afraid of. Him?

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, both staring at—but not quite paying attention—to the wall across from them. He could hear her irregular breaths and that was about it. He felt her hand softly, slowly and tentatively reaching for his. Her fingers snaking in between his. Her hand was slightly cold and he caressed it with his thumb, a barely there caress. He wanted to warm her. Hands, body, heart...

Ethan felt it as she breathed out. She'd been holding her breath for him.

"I thought I had lost it—the watch my father gave me." He placed it in her empty hand.

She inspected it, holding it against the light—wordlessly.

To Ethan, from your Father.

"It's the only thing I kept from that part of my life-" He shut his eyes as if in pain. "My father and I never had a strong relationship—no bond no nothin'." Vanessa nodded, squeezing his hand gently, comforting. "I had a brother—Robert-who was two years younger and my father's favorite. I was the closest to my mother, probably because she felt responsible—she thought it to be her fault that from the day I was born my father turned his head on me and from the time I could walk he would only yell, curse and abuse me."

"But he gave you this watch—it must mean something..." Ethan snickered, bitterly and shook his head in denial.

"No Ms. Ives, that watch was my brother's. When Robert was killed by the indians, during the wars, my father had no son left but me—no one else to inherit all of his land and all of his gold. So he thought he could make up for all the shit he caused me by all of a sudden treatin' me fair... I didn't believe him for a moment." Ethan sighed heavily and she couldn't help but notice all of the consternation in his eyes. "My brother and I, we were friends though and we became the closest when my mother passed. She was nearly fifty years old and giving birth, can you believe? Of course she would've died, her body couldn't take it!" Vanessa could feel the speed of his pulse, his blood practically boiling at the mere thought. "And he knew it, my father knew it, but he still went to her bed at night and there was no God damn thing anyone could do about it—And she always let him—that sick bastard."

"I'm sorry about your mother..." Ethan shook his head angrily and she continued to touch him, on the hand, on the arm, the nape of his neck, all to calm him. And she was damn good at it—her fingers were feather-like, her hands were soft and her touch made everything better, everything that hurt heal. So after a while, he continued—he hoped she wouldn't stop.

"In a way she was lucky, she got to escape that bastard of a husband she had. To be honest Ms. Ives—I was more relieved than sad or angry when my mother died. She wouldn't suffer anymore... But Robert, he was furious, he fled home to come join me and the troops. I should have sent him back—but I didn't—I wanted my father to suffer the loss of his son. Robert wasn't made for war, for weapons, for killing or for the wild west. He was made to sit in a fancy office and manage all of the family riches while others did the hard work. So obviously, he didn't last long."

"So you feel guilty for his death as well?" Ethan shrugged it off, but she knew better. She could feel the goosebumps beneath the tips of her fingers, as she she stroked the nape of his neck and her skin brushed on his hair. Vanessa tried to hide her little smile of satisfaction. She did it again and watched with the utmost pleasure, when he threw his head back ever so slightly and closed his eyes for a fraction of a minute.

"M-my father wants me back in America Ms. Ives—to look at my face every day with disgust and disappointment, blaming me as he's always done for all of his problems, blaming me for my mother, for Robert..." He paused and looked at her, messy curls falling over her face, her cheeks were rosy again—she was much better and he could feel how good she felt, touching him like that, knowing she had the power to make him go weak on the knees just like a little boy. "It reminds me not of my father, but of my brother."

"I see..." She was too close for her own good. "And I hope that you are aware of the fact that you shall not be returning, Mr. Chandler-" She had a small smile on her face. She knew it all. "We're far better than that." He shook his head and couldn't help but smile as well, all the anger pent up dissipating as she trapped him in her charms.


	2. Half-past Eleven

He lay in his bed, reading, it was half-past eleven. His hair was still damp from a bath he took... trying to cleanse himself from all of that invisible blood that stained his body and soul. The blood of dozens of innocent people, even the blood of a child. Charlotte. He never forgot her name.

A bitter taste filled his mouth and no matter how much whiskey he drank, trying to drown away all of the guilt and sorrow—he couldn't seem to rid himself of it.

He could no longer tell what hurt more—those witches, torturing and taunting him or the last three days of perfect silence, perfect calmness, perfect nothing.

She barged into his room, without invitation, the door banging loudly behind her. She had her sleeping attire on and her curls were wild around her face, like a lion's mane. He turned to look at her and saw the same confusion he felt stamped on to her face. She had come on impulse. She had come to him.

"Vanessa-" She said nothing as she removed her silk robe and slipped under his covers with him. Her blue eyes were tired but the rosy hue of her cheeks were returning—things were improving, but until when?

"I had a dream with you-" She said with a tender smile. He had never seen one as such on her face.

"Really? Good I hope..."

"The best I've had in a while. You were a puppy." She teased with a childlike radiance in her eyes.

"A puppy?" He pretended to be outraged. It was good to see her in higher spirits. He couldn't help but smile at her, at the thought that even surrounded by darkness, there was still some sort of purity in them—a need for joy, for laughter, for life. Only in her company could he feel truly comfortable to speak his mind, to joke, to reminisce.

"Yes. A cute and brown little thing that fit in the palm of my hand." She smiled as she took his hand into hers and softly played with his fingers, like a little child.

"Sounds like me." She chuckled. "How much did you smoke, Ms. Ives?" She threw her head back in laughter, but ignored the question.

"I never thanked you, Ethan..." She trailed off, he could tell she was thinking too hard—her brows were furrowed and her smile began to diminish into a straight line. He tried to interrupt her but she sent him that look of reprehension... that almost always worked on him. "So thank you—for being loyal, for being my greatest friend. Thank you for sacrificing yourself, simply for my well-being and thank you..." She leaned closer to him ever so slightly. "For this." She whispered and Ethan was caught by surprise as she was quick to press her lips to his own. A second was all it took for him to throw the damn book he'd been holding on the floor and pull her closer to him, to fully reciprocate her kiss and deepen it with the utmost passion.

Her soft, nimble hands traveled from his jaw line to the nape of his neck—eliciting from him a moan of satisfaction. She pressed herself tighter against him and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own, only the thin fabrics of his shirt and her gown separating him from her bosom.

Her hands were fast and urgent, tracing the line of buttons in his shirt and efficiently snaking her fingers beneath his shirt. The feel of her hands against his skin was heaven and all he could do was trail kisses along her neck... And then he found it. That little spot right below her ear that caused her to shiver, moan and pull even closer to him. She urged him to continue and he did, busying his hands, tracing the curves of her body... Finding the hem of her gown and pulling it up, releasing her long, smooth, milky leg. Ethan grabbed her leg and wrapped it round him, she was quick to turn on top of him and straddle his hips. Her face was red, from kissing—from passion. Her pupils were so dilated he could hardly see the blue and as her hips began grinding against his, the most pleasure he had felt in days—they were startled by a loud knock on the door. Vanessa smiled and let out a dry laugh, climbing off of him.

"Our kind doctor is here to check up on my health." Ethan snickered.

"You're healthy all right." He placed a quick kiss to her lips and pretended to be reading his book as she put her robe back on and headed towards the door.

"Ms. Ives-" She smiled at the doctor's flustered expression.

"Dr. Frankenstein, Mr. Chandler was just reading to me a passage of his wonderful book..." It took him all the self control in the world not to laugh and pull her back onto the bed. Victor be damned.


	3. Acutely sinful love entanglement

She wore a dark shade of blue today. The exact shade of sapphires—the silk clinging to her shape perfectly. He watched intently, sat on the corner chair of the room while she slowly and methodically removed her healed shoes and one by one pulled out the silver pins from her hair, entranced by the release and fall of each bit of hair past the curve of her shoulders to the curve of her back.

Her thoughts were elsewhere, he could tell. She had that look of worry on her face, dark brows furrowed and her lips were half a pout and half a frown.

Today had been the first day she had gone out to the city since they arrived home. It had been two long months of bed confinement for him and late nights and early mornings at his bedside for her.

She had treated each and every bruise of his body with her herbs, with her love and with her gentle touch. Her hands were very precise, carefully selecting each little root, each little leave. Washing and smashing them; mixing, cutting, boiling, squeezing. She had cured his body and slowly, in their own little rhythm, was curing his soul.

She carefully removed her dress and the corset she despised—and for some reason unbeknownst to him continued to use. He watched as her nimble fingers undid each button and each string of her prison. She was only in her thin white blouse when she looked at him, with a tender smile and without a word exchanged he handed her the long, white and soft camisole that she swiftly put on, unashamed of briefly revealing to him her white and pink flesh or her naked breasts.

He lay in bed clad in a soft white shirt and pajama trousers that he had never imagined himself to wear—but that had earned his preference during the long days of his bed rest. She smiled as she watched him get under the blankets with him; she knew exactly what he was thinking of as she glanced at his navy blue pants.

"How was your evening Ms. Ives? " He asked with that typical southern drawl, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

"It is unfortunate Ethan that you have not allowed yourself to discover the pleasures of the opera…" He raised a brow and rolled his eyes.

"Well there is enough drama around here, darlin'."

"You know, it's strangely refreshing to be preoccupied with other people's problems other than my own for once. Violetta's woes were quite entertaining"

"Speaking of woes…" She eyed him, eyebrows knitted and those huge blue eyes full of curiosity and also dread towards what would come next, stared piercingly into his.

"Father Cleary wants to know if we have settled on a date for the wedding. Apparently we are trapped in an acutely sinful love entanglement that may sever our baptismal ties to God. His words."

"Fuck it then—I told you already that I refuse to be married." He smiled at her rare use of a swear word and leaned in to whisper provocatively in her ear.

"Let's see how long you'll last without any—a man can't live in sin forever…"

"Nor can he live without sex. " She chuckled and wrapped herself around him, ready to sleep.

"You are extremely spacious for such a tiny lady. " She smiled, head comfortably on her pillow, halfway asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The curve of her pale, ever soft breasts, revealed by the low collar of her dress enticed him beyond words. She had disposed of her corset and skirt layers and lay on the sofa, asleep after spending hours engrossed in a book. Vanessa had confided in him during breakfast, between bites of yesterday’s dessert, that for a long time she hadn’t read something so—enthralling.

Ethan enjoyed watching her be at ease, without a worry in the world. Her eyes shone brightly and something about the way she moved—the lightness of her step, the glow of her skin, the color on her cheeks—something or everything made him all the more desire her… Ethan’s hands ached to feel her touch and constantly their eyes would meet. She played with him, the little minx, small smiles and deep blue eyes bold and seductive… 

He knew very well that Vanessa desired him also.

…

She soaked in the hot and soapy water of the tub—it had taken her forever to fill. Candles were lit all around her in the wash room—the incense filling the air with an intoxicating jasmine scent. Her curls were piled up on her head, but rebellious as they were, some fell onto her shoulders and her face—she leaned back, eyes closed, and allowing only good thoughts to enter her mind. Before she knew it she was humming the duet from La Traviata—brindisi… She concentrated on the joyous melody and the words… The words spoke to her heart.

Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici  
che la belleza infiora.  
E la fuggevol ora s'inebrii  
a voluttà...

Vanessa remembered once saying that sad people liked poetry and happy people liked songs—right now she was happy and it was a thrilling and almost alien thing… It filled her with hope.

…

He glanced at her from the crack of the door—she was breathtaking—singing with her eyes closed, smiling and laughing. She was a child in there—without a single burden. Immaculate.

He adored her like a faithful adored a saint.

…

As the water began to cool down and before she would look like a white prune, Vanessa climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel—she wouldn’t bother herself with a robe. She invaded the privacy of his bedroom, water glistening against her skin and her curls like a dark and messy halo around her face.

Ethan shot up from his chair, where he’d been lost in his thoughts, staring into the hearth and stopped in front of her. Their eyes locked so intensely he trembled—how could someone be so beautiful?

Vanessa smiled in that slightly mocking way and wrapped her bare arms around his torso, kissing him softly and as the seconds passed passionately on the lips. He pulled her closer, her towel falling to the floor and his hands travelled down her body and his lips feasted on her delicate skin… She hummed in pleasure and pleasure they felt all through the night.


End file.
